


Vapor Trails

by randi2204



Category: Voltron: Defender of the Universe, Voltron: Lion Voltron
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-22
Updated: 2010-07-22
Packaged: 2017-10-10 18:10:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/102603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randi2204/pseuds/randi2204
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day Sven is injured, Keith reams Lance out for his carelessness, and Lance remembers the last time he screwed up this big.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vapor Trails

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in 2004 for _Ex Machina_, a Voltron yaoi fanzine published by Spubba.

 Disclaimer: World Events Productions owns Voltron.  Original animation: Hyakuu Ju-O Go Lion belongs to Toei Animation.

  

Vapor Trails

 “What happened today was inexcusable!”

 

Lance flinched at the words, but kept his eyes straight ahead.  This had been going on for several minutes already.  He stared out the windows of Keith’s office, not at Keith, and thought instead about how inappropriate it was for the fluffy white clouds to be drifting so serenely in the perfect blue sky.  _It’s like they don’t even know or care what happened today,_ he thought a bit resentfully.

 

They were too high up to see the blood that trickled darkly from Sven’s hair, to hear it spattering on the ground, to feel it coating his hands, slick and warm and sickening . . .

 

Quickly, he wrenched his mind from those memories, and tried to think of nothing.

 

Keith made it very difficult, however.  He paced angrily in the space between his desk and the other pilot, passing in and out of the range of Lance’s vision every few seconds. He was muttering softly, something about defending a world, and having only five people to do it. 

 

Quite suddenly, as if sensing Lance’s deliberate inattention, Keith whirled and pointed an accusing finger at him.  “Your reckless actions and careless behavior are directly responsible for losing us the services of a valuable pilot, not to mention nearly costing a man his life!”

 

Lance stirred slightly at that, and the urge to defend himself crept up on him.  It was right on the tip of his tongue to say, “Sven didn’t have to follow me, you know,” but he bit the words back unsaid and wrestled the very idea into submission.  It was true, after all; they had no pilots to spare, and no chance of getting replacements any time soon.  Some of what Keith had said was over the top, he certainly wasn’t going to deny that, but he knew that his commander was just letting off steam.  He’d long ago decided that whatever Keith said to him, he would take it, without complaint

 

Every cool word, every cutting phrase was one richly deserved.

 

Keith had fallen silent after that last outburst, but he again stalked back and forth, and Lance’s eyes stole back to him of their own accord.  Long, shaggy hair waving behind him like a banner, dark eyes snapping, movement as fluid and graceful as a dancer . . . Keith was quite something to behold.  When he finally realized that he was staring, hungrily devouring Keith with his eyes, he snapped his attention back to the window, and hoped that his gaze hadn’t been noticed.

 

_At least I can still look,_ he thought, and tried to keep himself from recalling that once, he’d been able to do more.

 

The silence grew heavy and uncomfortable between them.  Finally, needing to break the tension, Lance coughed quietly.  At the sound, Keith stopped pacing and looked at him, thick eyebrows raised expectantly.

 

 “I screwed up,” Lance admitted softly.  It was the first he’d spoken since greeting Keith when entering.  It didn’t sound like enough, even to his ears, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

 

Keith frowned at him severely.  “Big time.”

 

The words knocked the air out of him as effectively as a punch to the gut.  Lance felt his eyes widen, felt the blood drain from his face.  Though the words fell from Keith’s lips often enough, they had rarely been directed at him.  He was always unprepared for the pain they conjured up within him, and today was no different.  Reeling mentally, he wondered how Keith could seem so calm.  _Well,_ he thought dazedly, _I suppose it’s possible that they _don’t_ remind him of the worst night of his life.  He might have had one that was even worse than that one . . ._

 

Maybe Keith was just a better actor.

 

_Or maybe he doesn’t remember at all._

 

But Lance remembered all too well.

 

_Deep breaths_, he told himself shakily, _and just hope that he doesn’t want to yell at me some more.  I really couldn’t take it . . ._

 

Keith, however, had not noticed his distress, or simply did not deign to comment.  He retreated behind his desk and sank into his chair.  “Go,” he said, his voice sounding tired.  “Except for emergencies, you’re confined to your quarters until further notice.  I’ll have Hunk or Pidge bring your meals to you there, too.”  He was looking at the monitor as he spoke, perhaps already mentally composing his report to Garrison.  “Report back tomorrow for further disciplinary action.  Dismissed.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Lance choked out, and somehow made his way out.  Even though it felt like his heart was bleeding, he found he could not resist sneaking a final glimpse of Keith as he closed the door.

 

Far from being engrossed already in his report, as Lance had half expected, Keith had his elbows propped on the desk, face buried in his hands.

 

Mechanically, Lance closed the door and started walking down the hall.

 

He was amazed that he made it all the way to the main corridor, leading into the living area of the castle, before his knees buckled.  The words had been echoing in his head since before he had even left Keith’s office.

 

_“I fucked up, didn’t I?”_

 

_“Big time.”_

 

He lurched against the wall and let it support him, while he just tried to breathe.

 

***

The sunlight through the shabby curtains struck Lance right in the eyes.  Groaning his protest, he rolled over to drape an arm over his bedmate and, hopefully, snuggle his way back to sleep.  However, when he reached out, he just kept on reaching, encountering only empty bed and cool sheets.  He woke completely and sat up suddenly enough to make his head spin.  “Keith?” he called, peering into the corner of the room, as if he expected his lover to be hiding in the shadows.

 

Only after he had spoken did he recall that Keith was at his parents’ house.  He ran his fingers through his hair and stayed slumped in the middle of his bed.  The Academy was on break, and would be for another week.  That’s why Keith wasn’t here.

 

He had said that he needed to go home, had canceled the plans they had made and abandoned Lance here.  _Well, all right, there hadn’t been a whole lot of planning_, Lance thought, still a bit defensive, even though he was alone.  _But still, there’s nothing wrong with staying in bed all day, having sex whenever we feel like it and walking around naked because we’re not going to go outside at all . . ._

 

When he’d presented this idea, though, no more than half jokingly, Keith had been doubtful.  His reluctance and Lance’s insistence had quickly degenerated into another argument, and a couple days later, Keith had said that his parents wanted him to come home and visit.  He’d said it without looking at Lance at all, and they both knew he was lying.

 

But he’d also said that he’d be back today, so things were already looking better than they had for the past week.  Straightening, he glanced around, and grimaced at the piles of clothes- both clean and dirty- around his bedroom.  He crawled out of bed, wended his way through the obstacle course the heaps created to the door, and groaned again at the tower of unwashed dishes in the kitchen sink.  Regretting now his slovenliness, Lance sighed.  _This is not what the place should look like to welcome Keith home,_ he thought, and shuffled into the bathroom.

 

Even though Keith still officially lived in the dormitory, he spent most every night at Lance’s apartment.  Since one of their recent disagreements had had to do with Keith cleaning up the disaster area Lance called home, Lance decided it would be a nice welcome home present to clean it himself.

 

_And dinner,_ he reminded himself later, dolefully scrubbing a pan free of the caked-on remnants of his last cooking attempt.  _Just to complete the I-love-you-welcome-home-please-forgive-me image._

 

Several hours later, apartment cleansed, he was elbow-deep in a very complicated recipe that he knew Keith liked, when the phone rang.

 

As he cursed under his breath, trying to scrape his hands free of the gunk that he hoped would become edible once cooked, the phone kept shrilling.  He’d only just wiped his hands and started for the phone when his answering machine picked up.

 

_“Hi, Lance, it’s Keith . . .”_

 

Lance grinned widely and reached for the phone, wondering in the back of his mind where Keith would be calling from.  _Probably got a layover somewhere_, he thought, _and he just wants to let me know what time he’ll be in . . ._

 

Then he stopped short, hearing what Keith was saying, and the uncomfortable tone in which he spoke.

 

_“I thought you might be in, but I guess I was wrong.  Um . . . I know you’re not going to be happy about this, but . . . my parents want me to stay for a little while longer.  Actually, they want me to stay for the rest of break, but I told them that I really needed to get back at least a couple days early, to finalize my schedule.  So I’m going to be here for another couple days, anyway . . .”_

 

Lance turned away, hands still sticky with egg clenching into fists, and ignored the hurried goodbye recorded behind him.

 

He had never expected that Keith would want to avoid him this long, or that that knowledge would hurt so _much_.

 

_This wasn’t supposed to happen.  He’s supposed to come back and we can apologize to each other again, and everything will be all right.  Right?_

 

Keith had _promised_ he’d be back today.

 

Anger flooded through him, hot and fast, as he glanced around his apartment.  It was spotless, everything neatly put in its proper place.  All for Keith.

 

_I need to get out of here._

 

When he left the apartment a few minutes later, the bowl full of the botched recipe was still sitting on the counter in the kitchen.

 

***

He hadn’t meant to end up at one of his old haunts, and certainly not in the arms of one of his old partners.  He hadn’t even thought of this place in well over a year.

 

He’d been out walking, trying to sort out his feelings- part of him kept saying that Keith couldn’t say no to what was really a reasonable request from his parents, while another part couldn’t help feeling that Keith had done this on purpose.  Another broken promise, and it didn’t seem to matter anymore that he’d broken promises too; all that mattered was the ache in him that wouldn’t seem to go away. 

 

An ache that told him Keith didn’t want to be around him any more, that maybe, just maybe, he never really had . . .

 

And while he was lost in his thoughts, the city had darkened around him.  Once the streetlights came on, he found that his feet had carried him to the club almost automatically.  Since he was there anyway, it had seemed like a pretty good idea to go and maybe have a drink . . . dance a little . . . and maybe it would dull the pain, make it more bearable, if only just a little.

 

But the drink had turned into four, and the dance had gone on and on, his partners changing around him, until Jacob had found him in the throng.  Since then, he’d been wrapped in Jacob’s arms, their bodies pressed tightly together.  While they were like that, it was easier not to think about . . . anything.  Everything.  Keith.

 

Jacob’s movements were changing against him, from the shake-it-out tension release of the dance to something else, something slower and much more sensual, though not as blatant as the bump and grind of hips that he saw going on around him.  _I don’t mind_, he told himself, over and over.  _I don’t mind_.

 

Then he looked down into twinkling, questioning green eyes, just as Jacob brushed against him much more intimately, and felt a wave of heat that even the tight pack of over-warm bodies around him could not explain.  He sucked in a surprised breath.

 

Knowingly, having seen the flash of desire in his face, Jacob pulled his head down, and made himself heard over the pulse of the music.  “Ready to go?” he shouted.

 

Lance nodded shortly, and, keeping a firm hold on one arm, pushed his way to the door of the club.  Jacob grinned and followed him eagerly.

 

***

It was well past three.

 

Slowly, the burden of the choices he’d made weighing him down, Lance climbed the stairs that wound up to his apartment.  Though a few hours ago he might have had a strong buzz to excuse the way he fumbled with his keys, that pleasant haze was long gone.  It hadn’t faded away; it had just suddenly _left_, disappearing and taking with it the blissful completeness of his recent orgasm.

 

Because he’d realized that the body beneath him was not the right size or shape.  It should have matched his own more closely.  The skin over which his hands wandered aimlessly was not the texture he was used to, and when he buried his face in his lover’s neck, trying to deny what he’d done, the scent that assaulted him was wrong as well.

 

None of it was _Keith_.

 

He couldn’t get away from Jacob fast enough.

 

Returning to his pathless wandering of the city had not helped, either, had not erased what had happened.  What he had _let_ happen . . . no, what he had almost _wanted_ to happen, even though it was likely to destroy everything that he and Keith had struggled to build over the past year.

 

He pushed the door open, wondering distantly- because it felt like if he thought about it too much right now he would simply start crying at the hurt he’d done himself- how he was going to be able to explain this to Keith.  He snorted with humorless laughter at that, and thought, _Even if I had the whole week until the semester starts, I don’t think I’d be able to come up with anything.  Keith will see what I’ve done as soon as he looks at me . . ._ The laughter choked into a sob as he reached out to flick on the lights.

 

Then, suddenly, it didn’t matter how much time he had, because he had none.  The lights were already on, and Keith was scrambling up from the sofa, smiling at him hesitantly.  Lance felt his heart start to beat double time, as it usually did when he saw Keith.

 

“There you are!” Keith was in front of him, reaching out to embrace him.  “Did you get any of my messages?  I called a couple of times . . .” Then he was winding his arms around Lance, tucking his face into Lance’s neck.  Lance let his arms fold gently around him, as if Keith were something eminently fragile, and closed his eyes, breathing in the familiar scent of his hair.  A chuckle vibrated through Keith.  “And what in the world were you trying to make?  I had to throw whatever it was out . . .”

 

He had one moment of happiness, as clear and fleeting as a vapor trail in a brilliant blue sky, as he held Keith once more.  Then Keith stiffened in his arms, and despair took him, because he knew Keith knew.

 

“Keith . . .”

 

He felt Keith shake his head, the unruly strands of midnight hair tickling his cheek.  “No.  I . . .” Keith swallowed, and when he spoke again, his voice was very soft.  “Lance . . . you smell like . . . like sex . . .” The questioning, the hurt in the words struck Lance to the bone.

 

“I . . .” His mouth was as dry as dust, and he could hardly speak.  But he forced himself anyway.  “I only got your first message.”

 

He felt Keith’s hands clench into fists.  “So you had to leave right away and . . .” He broke off.

 

“You promised you’d be back,” Lance said, his voice thin.  “I . . . It hurt to think . . . that you didn’t want to be . . .”

 

Keith straightened, his arms retreating an inch at a time, it felt, a last lingering touch, until they finally fell to his sides.  “I called back only a few minutes later,” he said, sounding almost dazed.  “I got the machine again.  I just couldn’t stay away from you any longer.  I had to see you, and apologize for . . . for running away like I did.  I just wanted to make it up to you . . .” His voice caught again.

 

“It was an accident . . .” Lance had not released Keith.  He found he could not let go, and understood at last that despite their arguments and their differences, he loved this man desperately.

 

“You can’t accidentally have sex, Lance!”  Though he did not shout, his words rang fiercely in Lance’s ears.  Looking away, he continued more softly, “You . . . you kind of have to mean it . . .”

 

Stricken, Lance could only watch as Keith extricated himself from his nerveless fingers.  His hands flopped uselessly to his sides as Keith turned away to pick up his jacket from where it lay draped over the sofa.  Though his guilt and pain, it took Keith stepping toward the door for him to understand that he was leaving.

 

“I love you,” he said, his voice strangled.  _Please don’t go,_ he pleaded silently, hoping he would understand._  Please don’t leave me . . ._

 

Keith paused, shoulders hunched, then returned to Lance.  “I know,” he replied, reaching out as if to brush Lance’s cheek.  But he pulled his hand back too quickly, and added, “I can’t.”

 

_Can’t be here right now, can’t trust you, can’t love you anymore . . ._ All too well he understood what Keith didn’t say.

 

“I fucked up, didn’t I?” Lance whispered, the words barely audible even in the absolute silence.

 

“Big time,” Keith replied, his voice calm.  But he was shaking as he slipped away from Lance this time.  He shrugged into his jacket and quietly let himself out.

 

Lance stood in the living room for a long time, watching the door and waiting for Keith to come back.  He didn’t care if he came back to yell or to accuse or even to forgive him.  Something very strange had happened when the door clicked shut; somehow, Keith had managed to take all of his insides with him when he left.  It was the only reason Lance could think of that explained why he felt so hollow.

 

He waited for hours, and eventually fell asleep on the floor, leaning against the sofa, just as dawn broke.  But Keith did not return.

 

***

Lance was unsurprised to find himself leaning against the wall, shivering, his arms crossed tightly over his stomach.  The pain he’d felt that night had never really faded; it was still so strong and intense that he always felt like he was going to throw up whenever the memory came upon him.

 

He tilted his face up to the distant ceiling and closed his eyes.  _You’d think, after all this time . . ._

 

But he didn’t want it to fade.  He wanted to keep that moment sharp and clear in his mind, that moment when he loathed himself so completely he couldn’t stand it.  If he was so desperately unhappy now, he had only himself to blame.  It never hurt to remember that.

 

_Well, it _does_, but . . ._

 

Keith had spoken to him only rarely since that night, had seemingly been consumed by his advanced officer training, his command classes.  Then graduation came, and first postings.  He hadn’t seen Keith at all until the orders came for the mission to Arus.

 

Two long, lonely years.

 

Guilt pricked at his conscience again, and he sighed, lowering his gaze, but did not open his eyes.  “I’m sorry, Sven,” he murmured, feeling he had to say _something_.  “I didn’t want you to get hurt.  I honestly didn’t think anyone would follow me.” Then his lip curled slightly, humorlessly.  “I should have known.  I finally decide that I can’t stand it any more, and my luck takes a turn for the better.  Figures.”

 

Unbidden, an image of Keith floated into his mind.  He was prowling around his office like a wild creature unused to such a cage.  Familiar arousal began to heat through him, as it always did when he thought of Keith.

 

He wanted to touch him again, to hold him . . .

 

But even more than that, he wanted Keith to forgive him, for Keith to let him back into his heart again.  To love him again.

 

In self-defense, he opened his eyes, letting the dream-Keith that dwelt in his mind fade away against the stark white castle walls.  But the desire was still there, warming his blood.

 

And he _wanted_ it.

 

“I still love you, Keith,” he whispered, even more softly than his unheard apology to Sven.  “I . . . I just want you to take me back . . .” He stopped and swallowed thickly.  “Just . . . please forgive me.”  He waited, as he always did when he made this plea, for some kind of sign of blessing, but there was none.

 

After a moment’s silence, he pushed himself away from the wall.  He shuffled more than walked down the corridor, heading for the uncertain comfort of his cold, empty bed.

 

***

Keith stepped out of the alcove into which he’d ducked when he’d seen Lance kind of stumble against the wall and just stand there, staring into space.  Biting his lip, he watched Lance’s back retreat down the hall, and debated calling out.

 

The words had got to him.  _They always do,_ he admitted, and once again had to beat down the crazy hope that rose in his heart.

 

He had been so hurt by what Lance had done that it had seemed easier at the time to just not be around him any more.  But now, they were assigned together, and it looked like it would be for a long time, and he saw him every day, and those feelings were creeping back up on him again . . .

 

_No,_ he told himself, turning back the way he had come.  _No.  We’re over.  We’re through._

 

His inner voice did not sound as firm as it usually did, though.

 

Ruthlessly quashing the images that flashed in his mind- of Lance in Sven’s place, of him holding Lance’s battered body, of Lance dying in his arms- he returned to his office, the pretence of an errand that had brought him this way forgotten.

 

_Fin_


End file.
